Hispania
by shooptastic
Summary: Set in 218 BC, Romulus, leader of the great city of Rome, comes across an unnamed civilization ripe for the picking, along with the vulgar young boy who leads it. He takes the boy under his wing and discovers not only will it be a challenge, but that the passion of a nation's heart is not to be reckoned with.
1. Chapter 1

Word had been traveled through the cascading hills of his people and the small village. Soldiers with chests of gold and heads of grass were riding on horses through his territory. Though seeming no older than a soldier, the nameless leader quickly dashed through huts and tents selling pots and plants. He only knew how to protect his people, and since broken tongue had stated they were being invaded, he rushed to do his job. No one was in a hurry, however. Times had been tough through the drought but he was confident his people weren't giving up. However, some didn't move, as if they were comatose in the deadpanning sun. He took his crude bronze and copper smelted falcata and felt the pebbles and dirt cut into his feet as he ran to meet the crowd of people, listening to a foreign man speak of better lives in a tongue they didn't understand.

Confused, he pushed pass the mothers with children and men slouched from exhaustion and pointed his sword at the man in the front line, panting heavily from his run and causing a stir in his people. No one wielded their weapons behind him, and he quickly felt a stir in the air. Something was wrong. Why weren't they pillaging his village? Sweat dripped down his deeply tanned face and he had a hard time thinking as they all stared at him, unbelieving, some very amused.

As it was with any attack, Romulus' hand flinched, but that was the only part of him that moved. The offense stopped short of his nose, quite the gap left between the tip of the weapon and his face. The boy's shoulders were rising and falling frantically as he was panting, completely unprovoked though it was. They were just passing through. He raised an eyebrow and brought his hand away from the sword at his waist.

"Does this belong to someone?" He asked, looking around the women who all in turn shook their heads and went back to their sweltering work, babies strapped to their backs, or holding their children tightly by the hand. They each gave the boy a look of affectionate, long-suffering despair. A sympathetic goat bleated somewhere in the background.

Although the people he had supported so generously for as long as he could remember did not turn to support him with the fight of the intruders. Perhaps when they looked at the expensive metal glinting in the sun they knew they had no chance, but he was not so quick to give up.

"Why have you trespassed my land?" He spat out and moved closer, his sword nearing the larger man's face and a large part of him frightened as the soldiers moved in closer, some laughing at him as they surrounded him. "Who are you?!" He cried out, jerking his weapon forward that it nearly punctured the man's neck. Mothers took their children inside the huts and closed the rickety door on the scene, and the crowd backed away. He had never felt so hurt in his life, but still, he stood resolute.

A few of the soldiers raised their voices in approval when the boy lunged forward with his sword. Clumsy, clumsy attack. All heart and no head. It reminded Romulus of himself before he grew up and realized nothing was won with heart alone. He hoped he wasn't as skinny, though. He took a step forward and, as expected, the boy drew back his falcata, realized his mistake and stepped forward again, as angry as ever. Romulus looked around to show his reaction, surprised, amused, and not intimidated in the slightest. "This is your land, is it?" He asked simply. "Where is your leader?"

Insulted, learning feelings he never knew he had the capability of having. "I am here." He told him, his teeth grinding and clenched tight together, like a couple's hands as they were just leaving their home to see him driving back an army by himself before rushing back in. "It is me." He clarified, when the laughing of other soldiers took over his ears. It drove him nearly to insanity to see him so still, so unintimidated, but this was his responsibility, and he would not let his townspeople down. They trusted him, or they loathed him, he wasn't sure as they went idly by in their work. "You need to go back."

"I do not have to do anything," replied Romulus, with false kindness as he stood tall, giving his men a quick nod to tell them to fall back into line. Their obstacle was nothing more than a boy playing games. His mother would come, or he'd be pushed aside, whichever came first. "We will be continuing forward," he went on, looking pointedly at the boy when he stood firm and did not move.

He didn't know what to do. If they proceeded his people would be hurt, and damaged. Where were they going? He rushed to recover as men remounted their steeds that behaved so much different from the ones grazing out in the fields and meadows. Obedient. He felt very ill for a moment before feeling his arm slash forward at what appeared to be the commander's horse. The brown, beautiful horse bucked and clamor arose, people went into their homes and he felt their fear dwell deep within him, from the core of his very being.

"You will not go there! I am the road you travelled here to the hills in the horizon around you! You tread on me. You will not go!" He wailed, wanting to be as commanding as his intruders but only sounding like an upset child as tears sparked his eyes and his falcata found home and ricocheted off the man's golden armor. Afraid, he felt his heart pull him to other soldiers, threatening to stab them and kill them when their feet proceeded on the dusty ground. For the second time, he had felt alone and afraid and he was positive no one would help him in this fray.

Romulus drew his sword at that. It rang against his armor as he drew it across his body, stepping forward again to the boy and grabbing him as one grabbed a wild or poisonous beast— without fear, and with conviction, looking him directly in the eye. He saw him falter, and took the mistake to block any further attacks, snatching his weapon and throwing it aside. He realized at this distance how much taller and broader he was than the child. He took his thin, sun-darkened wrist in his grip and felt the boy tense, trying to breathe to start kicking and screaming again, or to work up the nerve to run to collect his weapon. Romulus raised his sword against the boy's arm and his eyes widened (fearing for his hand, obviously— wielding a weapon out of war was presumably an offence that warranted the removal of a hand). The blade rested against his skin and he made a plea, or a threat, he was too panicked to be heard clearly, gasping when the sword was drawn across to open a small, fairly deep wound.

Romulus did not allow him to cover it with his other hand, holding his sword between them to warn him that his fingers would be caught if he so much as tried. He watched as the wound closed itself almost immediately— the only blood was from the initial incision, and it formed one angry red line on his dark skin. The boy glanced up to meet the Roman's eye, opening his mouth slowly to explain. "Take him." Romulus spoke instead, turning to his men with the boy's arm still in his grip, waiting to be relieved of him. "Do not let him away, do you understand?"

Hands and arms quickly surrounded him; in a sea of panic, he tried his best to escape them now that they knew. Would they turn him into an able body for war? He caught eye of a man and screamed for help, only to lose his glance as he walked easily to his work. His calloused hands were tied like a wild beast, wrist to wrist with no wiggle room, and he felt the impact of a breathing, warm beast on his stomach that made him wheeze for breath, squirming and kicking for the soldiers to free him. Rope burned against his dark ankles and he was sure he was not getting away, managing to meet the commander's eyes close to his face as tears blurred his vision and his scraggly brown hair blocked his view. "Do not hurt my people!" He shouted at him, and with a quick nod, a hard, very blunt object he had never come in contact with struck down on his scalp, blackening his vision and sending his tied limbs limp like rags.

He was a hardy little thing; Romulus would credit him that much. On the journey home, he started to kick and shout every time he woke up, no matter how often he was knocked unconscious, and he could only be coerced into relative quiet for a few minutes while he was offered water to sustain him. Not that it was really a necessity— his luck at finding a nation! An entire people embodied in one scrawny young man. He could scarcely believe it. If conquering had been this simple when he was a beginner he would have never had to exert half of the energy he did in his youth.

They had made it home without many more casualties, and his new subject was sleeping off what was probably a mild concussion, considering how many times he'd had to be beat around the head. He had been put on a cushion, but he had slumped onto the stone and no one had thought to move him back. Shame. It was rather comical, though, so Romulus left him to it.

After a long journey of days, he could not count and the numerous times a club had been struck down onto his head. His cheek was cool with his own saliva and his hands were raw from the rope tied tight against his hands, replaced now with metal shackles that hung loose and hurt against the hot burn of his irritated skin. He was in too much pain to hardly move, so tired and hungry he didn't want to move.  
His eye halfway opened to see two boys, wearing pristine white robes with flat sandals and the expression of pure curiosity. "Ecce, frater est terram,"* One's childish voice told the other, pointing at him and smiling. The other's eyes widened with surprise and wonder, and the nameless young man had to close his eyes again on the hard, cool stone. Moments of silence past and he spoke again, feeling his small finger stab into his sore, aching torso. "Exercitum adduxit eum." He let out a loud cry of pain, and the boys' feet scraped against the ground in fear, kicking up dust in his face as they fled from the room and their echoed laughter trailed behind them into the hall. *("Behold, he is a brother of the Earth… The army brought him.")

Their laughter grew to squealing as Romulus strode along the hall and saw them running from the room. He crouched, allowing them to run to his arms and picking them up with ease, kissing both their heads. "You are not to annoy him," he instructed. "He is very weary." His youngest nodded obediently and set his head against his grandfather's cheek. Lovinus neither said nor did anything. "You may meet him later if you are both well-behaved," he promised, and the boys sat forward to look excitedly at each other. Romulus carefully set them back down. "Go find the hounds," he told them, and they sped off again, laughing, with Felicianus trailing behind his brother.

The hounds were only supposed to be bed warmers, occasionally rat-catchers, but they proved good companions for the boys, who would happily irritate them with a piece of rope for some time. Romulus continued to walk into the room and found the young man trying to sit up. He didn't help him, but moved a jug of water so that it was within reach, sitting to face him.

He began to miss his own bed and the comfort of his own people around him, feeling so out of his skin on the stone floor with a hard carving of something on his back. He knew the presence of his captor beside him, and knew all too easily where he was. Travelers spoke of buildings that touched the Gods' faces and water that streamed so clear you could wash your eyes with it as they went through his village for bread to strengthen them and water to rejuvenate them. They called it 'Rome', and spoke of great men who could never be defeated in battle and were supposedly smarter than the Greeks were, conquering territories mercilessly and broadening their boarders. Once his mind was awake enough to process this and he heard the brush of his hands on a golden jug as it was moved closer towards him, he began to cry, curling in on himself to halt the sobs that tore at the ripped muscles in his torso and brought wave after wave of humiliation down upon him, like a tide pulling closer to the shore.

He was nothing but a child, Romulus realized, forced into an existence he had no control over. They suffered as fate would have it. He thought of his boys, carefree and innocent at their naive age. He thought of his brother, the loss of whom could only be comforted by the belief that he simply had to perish, as nothing in the Heavens had included his survival when history was written. This young man was no different— his life was set for him. Romulus poured water into a bowl for him at that, leaving a cloth so he could wash, busying himself until the little captive's breathing relaxed somewhat. "Who are you?" He asked, firmly but calmly, taking his seat again. "Have you been named?"

He shook his head as much as he could, staring at the archway to the exit and wishing so much he could leave, but staying down because he had not a wish to leave his life. "No, I was born without parents." He explained shakily, feeling so warm and uncomfortably hot a moment before but now nearly frozen on the ground, beginning to shiver. "I do not have a name, my people call me their leader and that is what I am." How bitter and useless his words seemed as they lingered in the air! He was not a leader, he was now a degraded man, and now bestowed the mercy of a bowl of crystal water he had heard so many stories about but did not have the will to drink out of fear.

He raised himself very carefully to a sitting position in front of the bowl, cupping his filthy, dusty and blood-stained hands where his wound had dripped down into the water and raising it to his lips, surprised to find a sort of nirvana after a handful and using the leftover water on his hands to wipe his disgusting face, hoping he could wipe the shame away, too.

Romulus was not sure how best to get an answer out of him. Was he even aware of his situation? He seemed it, when they had threatened to walk on. He clearly saw himself as a leader, if none of the people around him did. He had been left alone to fight a Roman invasion with barely a knife. "Your people belong to which land?" He asked, hoping it would provide some answers.

"My land." He answered him clearly, his shackles rattling around as he rushed to wash away the dirt and grime of the travel, now that he had means of doing so. "They belong to the hills and the dirt, the sand and the water. They belong to _me_." The water, once crystal clear it looked like there was nothing in the golden bowl, was now a thick gray-brown and he would have drank it if it weren't for a very frantic servant he hadn't noticed by the larger man that emptied the bowl into a basin and refilled it from the jug beside him.

"Hispania," nodded Romulus, and he wasn't quite sure if it was in recognition or if he was addressing the boy. "Hispania," he repeated, waiting for him to look up. It intrigued him— he wondered why he was not trying to scare him into handing over his land and his people. He had never met one like him so young who was apparently independent. "We are the same," he told him, and the boy looked like he couldn't disagree more. Something akin to a smirk played on Romulus' face.

He halted with his hands raised with water dripping from his fingertips to the stone. The same? Obviously not, he had been easily defeated and slung over a horse for a journey lasting more than a day, beaten to death with a club every time he woke up. The same was far beyond the realm of which they were. He shook his head, managing a laugh that shuddered out of his chest with very obvious sarcasm. "No, you are a _beast_, a cruel monster that rips people from their land. You are not me."

"I am successful," he replied, sitting tall with his shoulders pushed back. "Such is the difference between you and I. Who among your people came to your aid?" He asked, and he knew it was cruel, but not uncalled for. The boy demanded no respect. Better to put him right now than to have him spend years trying to defend a nation alone. "A people without pride is an unsuccessful people, and easily conquered."

He still had not grasped he was one with the man sitting across from him, and he was resolute to believe that he would never be, even if he already was. "They may have not came to my aid but be aware that we had not anticipated your coming, and if we had, I would have had men from all over behind me." He said, carefully standing up, using the stone-carved bed behind him as a brace on his wobbly way up.

"It is a dishonor to your people to be affiliated with you," he answered immediately, frowning and leaning forward, suitably offended. He quickly realized the boy had managed to get a rise out of him and sat back, as determined to remain in control as he was determined to hide the fact he was impressed. "They live like peasants and eat like scavengers. They are too afraid to stand with you because they are uneducated and untrained. Look at a Roman man and see if you could say the same."

He couldn't keep to the elder's teachings anymore. He was being mocked and disgraced right in front of him. What impossible actions, taking over his town! They would rise against him, and squish the Romans under their feet like insects. "Roman or not!" He shouted, unable to think of words in the could in his mind and taking the watered bowl at his feet and throwing the lot on the man, and the bowl to his forehead, where it clattered on the stone floor in the intense silence. "I will not be tread on!" He whimpered out, looking him directly in the eye as the bowl rolled and rolled and the servant cowered in the corner.

In a split second decision, not matter how uneducated it was, he ran.

Intimidated wasn't quite the word. There was no way on earth that this boy intimidated Romulus, but he definitely felt challenged in that he could barely bring himself to be angry out of shock. The slave in the corner had hurried to clear away the bowl and to bring him a fresh cloth to wipe himself. No harm done. That was his only mistake, if Romulus had to criticize him— he hadn't really tried to hurt him. At being allowed to stand so close, he could have at least tried to wound him.

Romulus heard his boys yell for him from along the hall, telling him the prisoner was escaping, as if he hadn't noticed. The dogs howled with them, a discordant melody to the rushed beat of the little Iberian's bare feet along the tiles. He was expected to run after him, of course, but he didn't want to satisfy him any further. He could hardly run as it was, with his wrists tied, and he would be caught before he made it to the street. Romulus took the cloth and wiped the water from his face, collecting his temper before it had a chance to grow. Patience was not a virtue he was blessed with, but it seemed it would be necessary.

Oh, the city of Rome! Seeing as he was hauled on a tired horse's back with a head injury, he had not taken in the beauty of the city with the bright white buildings and the people moving at leisure. In fact, that was what annoyed him the most about Rome. Everyone was in his way. Looking over his shoulder, soldiers ran but five seconds behind him and the larger man was nowhere to be seen. What had it been he had said to his soldiers regarding his safety? He had forgotten, and weaved along the people so much that he had to physically shove them out of his way, feeling their cold arms and legs and backs brush up against him all over, like rocks in a narrow passage.

He began to quickly calculate how to sneak by, every nook and cranny covered in guards or a stream of laughing people. His escape was causing a stir, and he had no idea where he was going. He turned into a wide-open street, his biggest mistake, and screamed as he was surrounded by men with shields and swords, all carved with various symbols he had no understanding of. He was pushed to the ground, hard rocks and jagged street piercing his skin and quickly healing as it had since he was little. They laced their arms through the space in his elbows, and slowly (and ceremoniously, he might add, his cheeks burned a fierce fire, and it wasn't from the lagging sun) dragged him back the way he came, hiding his face from the townspeople he had foolishly shoved out of his way.

Romulus stood by the door to watch them drag the little vagabond back with his head hung low, glaring at the ground while they jovially discussed his poor attempt. Once he was dropped onto the floor again, Romulus thanked the soldiers and gave them their leave, crouched in front of the boy and held him by the front of his tunic, forcing him to make eye contact and speaking calmly and dangerously. If he only threatened the boy once, and he only wanted to do so once, he would have to do it well.

"Convicts become slaves," he warned. "Convicts who try and fail to escape are whipped and sent into slavery again. It is a life sentence. Either you return to your home and your people a Roman or you do not return, do you understand me?"

Every single nerve in his body felt like needles piercing into his skin. He breathed heavily, still high on the adrenaline rush of running through unknown territory and felt as every part of him wanted to refuse him the satisfaction of his defeat. However, as his mouth was poised to say something that could be carved into Rome's walls, he hesitated, feeling the leader's eyes carving their own words into his walls. Saying he would rather never see his people again than submit to Roman rule was foolish of him, because it would not amount to anything. Saying that he would never become a Roman was false, and this realization sunk deep into his bones and weighed them down as if bags of grain were tied tightly to his limbs.

His people didn't care for his safety, because if they weren't attacking the walls and they didn't rush to help, they were wishing Rome would take over his territory.

His eyes trickled down to the meaty hand clutching his dirty clothes as both of his hands were wrapped around the leader's wrists to stop him from hurting him. Knowing that no one stood behind him made him feel cold and hollow in the bright sun. He paused a moment more, and was aware that he was waiting for an answer. "Yes." He replied, feeling his clothes loosen on his frame as his grip faded.

The look of defeat wasn't quite as satisfying as he had hoped. He actually felt sorry for the boy. It was difficult to be so strong-willed and have to admit to not being strong enough, he remembered it well. "Good," he nodded, easing his grip, but staying in front of him. "A word of advice, my boy— if you want to incapacitate someone, the jug is more useful than the water. Go for the soft spots on either side of the temple," he told him, taking his hand back and gently touching his head to show him where to strike. "Not that it would affect the likes of us very much," he considered, hoping to strike up some form of fraternity, if the boy would have it.

Much to his humiliation, he flinched away from his hand, but noted the spot as he slowly came back to it. Jug instead of water. "I do not know what we are," he began, trying not to seem as hopelessly confused as he felt and failing. "I do not know why... why _we_ are leaders? Why we are faster, stronger, and smarter? But we are the same, my people and I, I do not understand." He shook his head, refusing to meet his eye but offering a confused smile. "When you say you and me are the same, it's not true."

"You know what you are," he argued understandingly. "You are what you felt when you thought your people were at risk. That is why we were put here. We protect them." He shrugged and stood up, letting the boy move into a more comfortable position. "Unconditionally. Even if they would not protect us," he added sympathetically. There was no answer. "There are more of us. Many more. Were you aware?"

"No," he replied after a beat. "No, no." He moved away and sat back down at his spot, now on the stone-carved bed where he could lay down if he needed to. Hungry. Thirsty. Tired. He recalled the last time he ate, a piece of bread and a glass of weak wine, the only he had ever had. "I am them, you say? When you turn me Roman, will I disappear, and you grow stronger?"

Romulus considered for a moment and sat across from him again. "I grow stronger, yes," he admitted, "... but you will not disappear. I have two boys of my own. One represents the land north of Rome and the other, the south. They were among the first to be taken and they are still here. They are only children, but they grow. They develop. Think of it as the Senate," he realized, leaning forward and gesturing with his hands. "There is the ruler, which is me... Rome, that is, and the senators, who have individual responsibilities over certain domains. That would be nations such as you. It is like a government," he finished, and he looked at the boy to realize he was staring at him blankly, without a clue what he was talking about. Savage. "If there remains some kind of national identity, I think you will survive. The Iberians will consider themselves Iberians in Rome and you will still belong to them," he tried to explain more simply.

He was beginning to wonder if he could ever understand. He nodded, even though he didn't know what he was or if he was safe, but if it were for the sake of his people, he would die for them. It didn't matter if they hated him or did not support them, he would suffer for them. It dawned on him that 'Rome' was probably right; he would feel their pain no matter what. "I am sorry, but I do not believe me to be a Roman, nor will I ever." He told him sincerely, and given the reaction the man gave him, that wasn't the right thing to say. He rushed to finish. "You may rule over me and influence my people, but I will not be Roman. I belong there, not here."

He took a moment to remind himself that more important than winning a petty argument with a child was being mature enough to recognize the strengths in his argument, of which there were many. "That is unfortunate but understandable," he nodded, and the softness of his tone had hardened again. "However, whether you return or not, you realize that the matter is out of your hands? Hispania will belong to Rome. If your people choose to fight they will be beaten."

"Avus?" Came a cry interrupting his retort from the hall. One copper-haired boy wiped tears from his eyes while the other one guiltily shuffled his feet and kicked up dirt from the soldiers' sandals left in the marble floors. "Avus, Lovinus fell on one of the hounds and she is hurt!" He wailed, and the young man swallowed his spit as the man across from him rose to his feet. He would have joined him, but once he locked eyes with the darker haired one, watching as he looked at him as if he was some unspoken hero, although his actions had left him idiotic and conquered.

Romulus' attention was drawn away immediately, tutting when they both appeared, completely unhurt. "Where is it?" He asked, and Felicianus sniffed and ran just outside the doorway. "She is here," he showed him, just out of sight. The other little boy stood in his spot, studying and scrutinizing the new addition to their household. Romulus reappeared a moment later with a hound in his arms and a child at his ankles. He set the animal down, and it whimpered quietly for a second, and then walked a few steps. "It is alright," he said, and his grandson interrupted.

"She is crying!"

"You never cry when you are hurt? It was just an accident. Be more careful, Lovinus," he instructed, sitting down again and noticing that he received no reaction; because he was too busy eyeing the young man. "Do not stare, either."

Lovinus broke eye contact wordlessly to stare at his father, and then immediately turned back to the young man and bored holes into his clothes and his face. The boy was too interested in the animal wandering out of Felicianus's range once he tried to pick her up into his arms. It looked like a large rat, and he silently and quickly picked his feet up from the ground when it drew near. No one seemed the need to explain what it was other than that it was a hound. A hound, though? The young man was humiliated to notice a whimper of fear leave his throat when the creature paused at his bedside and jumped up on it without any further consent. It approached him, its nose fiercely breathing in his perhaps vulgar scent before being thankfully taken away. He wiped the tears budding in his eye and refused to meet the eye of anyone who looked at him. Upon closer inspection, the thing had no visible threat, but he had learned all too well from the coyotes and feral, damned creatures like the lynxes that attacked at night in his village.

They sat in confused silence for a moment, and Lovinus frowned and sharply turned to look at his guardian, wondering why no one was saying anything at the odd behavior. Felicianus stared and opened his mouth to speak, so Romulus tactfully interrupted. "They are domesticated," he told the boy, trying to right the situation quickly so as not to humiliate him. "They are not harmful. Felicianus and Lovinus take care of them, don't you?" He asked, hoping to distract everyone. "Neither of you have introduced yourselves yet," he scolded gently, giving Felicianus a tap with his foot to nudge him forward.

Felicianus whined having been sick and tired of introducing himself to every senator and member of the Republic, but stepped forward anyway and bowed, smiling. "I am Felicianus, son of Romulus and leader of North of Rome." said he, very practiced and very formal. The young man managed a snort because it had seemed so out of his fashion to stop his infantile ways and suddenly act like his elder. The other boy stepped with his brother and bowed as well, having the same training but not enough will or reason to carry out the same charisma.

"I am Lovinus, son of Romulus and leader of South of Rome." He spoke very quickly, much like other young children after they had been assigned a task and wanted to be through with it. Lovinus swiftly turned back to his guardian and complained in slurred tongue that he was hungry, and Felicianus chimed in shortly after, hopping in his sandals that scraped against the floor when he shuffled about.

The boy didn't know who he was or what he represented after Romulus had strictly told him he belonged to Rome, so he stayed silent and nodded to the boys, looking back down to his burning, irritated wrists wrapped in metals that held together like they were crafted from the Gods.

Romulus took note of his silence— he was tired, overwhelmed to the point that a house pet terrified him— and decided to leave it at that. They could further discuss his immersion tomorrow. "Come," he told his boys, setting a hand on each of their heads to usher them out of the room. "He needs rest."

Felicianus reached up to take his guardian's hand and turned back to the boy. "Rest well," he smiled, and Romulus, also smiling approvingly, turned to Lovinus, who met the captive's eye again and nodded wordlessly before they left.


	2. Chapter 2

Rest well he did. Now that he was on a bed with cushions, he had slept better than he ever had before. No bugs shimmied up his tunic and bit at his skin and no rodents came and brushed past his legs. He didn't wake up, startled in the night to be awaken from sharp pains in his chest every moment from the worry and fear of his people. He was suspended in the dark, comforted by the warm, humid air because it had reminded him of his home and his bed. However, the peace could not be sustained. While he could not see the moon's position in the sky, he could see through the thin windows that the night was still young. He was awoken to hear whispering figures in the dark and the clumsy clatter of furniture shortly behind. They hissed at each other like snakes and he eventually saw them when they entered his doorway, the fire from the elaborate dish in the corridor lighting half the room.

It was past their curfew, he was sure! The boys saw him awake and moved to run back, but the older of the two grabbed his wrist and pulled him back, carefully tiptoeing their way to his bedside, where they sat down as if they were praying to a God. They explained softly that they wanted to visit him, now that their 'avus' was out of sight and out of mind. The young man had learned in his restless hours before his dark sleep that there was a key to his chains outside the door, available to him if he had the skill to take such things from watchful eyes in the day. While they chattered mindlessly about his escape the previous day, the young man watched the very trustworthy children and felt a wicked smile paint over his miserable expression.

"Ay, ay, listen." He interrupted them, holding a thin finger up from his tight chains. "I am lonely in this room; perhaps since your grandfather is not around, we could play a game, yes?" He offered, beaming at them. When his assisters had good spirits about this, he continued. "I have one in mind. It is a finding game. You like those?"

They both stared at him— the youngest with awe, taking a moment to nod enthusiastically. The other went back to his silent judgment, nodding for the boy to continue, but frowning skeptically. "What do we have to find?" asked Felicianus, readjusting himself to sit more comfortably, so that his bare legs weren't on the marble floor.

He held up his wrists, trying his best to mock some form of sadness and excelling when Felicianus' expression mirrored his. "You see, I would join you. Finding games are my favorite, but I cannot find things well when I am chained up like this. I think I know where the key is, but I cannot leave this room with these on to find it." He explained grimly, but smiled when he looked at the two boys. "Do you think you could find the key for me? I think it is right outside this room..."

"Yes!" answered Felicianus immediately, forced to stop when his brother took his arm and stood beside him, staring at the young man as if interrogating him.

"Why should we help you?" He asked, and Felicianus turned to him with an expression both betrayed and hurt. He began to speak and Lovinus ignored him completely, continuing to talk to the boy on the bed. "What happens if we win?"

The child was intelligent. He took after his grandfather, and that was something that he was going to have to plan around in order to escape. "Well," he began, sitting up straight on his bed and making his legs a basket. He had no objects of value on him, aside from stories in a tongue they wouldn't understand and knowledge, which they would not be interested in. Lovinus rose to his feet and pointed to the necklace on the young man's frame and his expression darkened. He had been given the twine necklace when he was their age, and the black coyote tooth that had been weaved into it symbolized his first hunt. "No, no, this is special to me." He argued with him, holding it dear to his chest. "You can not have it."

"No matter," replied Felicianus brightly, completely willing to begin playing, but his brother stood firm.

"Then, what can we have?" He demanded, stepping back and crossing his arms over his miniscule chest. "It is difficult for us. We are small and you expect help for nothing!" He accused, and Felicianus shook his head and hit his Lovinus' hand lightly.

"No, he just wants to be able to play with us! You needn't pay—"

"What else do you have?" demanded Lovinus again, pulling his arm away from his brother.

"Please, please, do not yell," he begged, nearly hysterical with the panic of their raised voices. "We have to be sneaky in finding games, yes? I will give you..." He looked over his frame, finding the colored bracelets weaved from dyed grass on his wrists. Perfect, for he could always make more. "These two bracelets I made myself, I weaved them from high grass and painted them with crushed flowers and wine." He explained, allowing them to dig them out from under his thick manacles. "With grass from my land, they are very precious, so you mustn't damage them. Will you accept these to find the key, so I can get these off and give them to you?"

Lovinus analyzed the prospective prizes, then the boy's face, and his wrists again. Felicianus tutted with waiting and nudged him. "He does not have anything else to give, stop being so cruel," he whined, and Lovinus sighed and nodded once more.

"But you must help us if we need you," he decided to add as a final demand. The boy's superior height and strength could definitely be useful, now they had the means to access it.

"Agreed." He smiled wearily, and shook his hand. "Now, you must hurry, I fear that Romulus wouldn't like you up so late." The boy rushed them, and their little feet slapped against the marble floor as they rushed to retrieve the key they believed they knew where it was. He was shaking with anticipation, knowing that his home was but a day or two away on foot. Perhaps he could retrieve a horse, although with his previous attempts at domesticating horses proved unsuccessful and painful. The young man heard a loud shout of discomfort from one of them and a loud thud, and his blood went cold.

Lovinus groaned and rolled out from underneath Felicianus, who had fallen in trying to stand on his toes on his brother's cupped hands. The younger of them sat up and wiped his eyes, looking at the red mark on his knee curiously. It bruised immediately and dulled again almost as quickly. A moment later, there was the sound of heavy, hurried footsteps at the end of the hall. "Boys!" came the shout, as concerned as it was scolding. "What are you doing?"

Ruined! What a good plan to be ruined by kids! The young boy shoved his face into a pillow, his stomach digging holes into his body. He was so hungry, and he wished so desperately to be able to leave and scavenge for food. He heard the man scolding the boys outside and how they rushed to explain and buried his face in, unable to keep his agony under wraps and breaking down yet again, muffled sobs aching out of his chest as if there was some invisible force yanking them out of him.

"We were playing a game with Hispania!" Felicianus rushed to explain, Lovinus nodding eagerly. "He said that if we could get the key for h-his—"

"Manacles," Lovinus finished with him. "We could play a game with him, and if we brought the key back, he would give us his bracelets he made back at his house!"

"Why are you out of bed?" continued Romulus, and both of the children looked at their feet. "I sent you hours ago."

Felicianus' resolve crumbled and he worried his lip, fat tears in his eyes. "We only wanted to talk—"

"You can talk in the morning," he interrupted, and this time, he only received silence in answer. "Are either of you hurt?" He asked, and they both mumbled that they were fine, so he pointed towards their beds. "Goodnight." They shuffled off, Felicianus sniffing and Lovinus cursing under his breath. "Roman men do not mutter," Romulus reminded him loudly, and the boy went quiet. He took the few steps towards the perpetrator's room and stood in the doorway, seeing him curled on his side, shaking. "You are not above using children to get what you want," noted Romulus shrewdly. "You could have been a Senator in another life."

"I was so close!" He shouted at him, before he knew he had the intention to do so. "I was so _close_ to getting out of here! Do you realize that you have not fed me a crumb since you picked me up out of my land? I am starving!" The young man shakily rose to his feet, taking a moment to catch his breath when his sobs got the better of him and he became to be so frustrated he stamped his feet into the ground and kicked a stone arch connected to the bed to the other side of the room, knocking it off and shattering it once it hit the wall. "I just want to go home. Do you understand how horrible it is to not eat for three rotations of the sun?" He asked him, breathing heavily and rubbing his eyes awkwardly around his bound hands. "I want to go home."

"You think your job is an easy one," replied Romulus cuttingly, barely blinking at his broken furniture. "You have been spoiled in your ignorance. You will never be able to lead if you do not know what it is to be oppressed," he went on, although any anger or frustration he felt was dwindling fast. He had never intended to starve the boy. He was reluctant to feed him heavily, to make him earn his keep, but in truth he had not realized how long he had gone without food. "You will go home when you are given permission to go."

"Then let me go, now! Do you think I have not been oppressed, before?" He asked, quickly crossing the room to stand directly under him, hating the feeling of being examined by his wondering hazel eyes. "I have been oppressed in ways you and your silver-licking tongue cannot imagine." The young man spat. "I may have not had an army, but I knew how to lead. Now, what are they?" He asked, shuffling on his feet as tears streamed freely down his face. "They are blind. They know of their leader being in a faraway land who is deaf to their complaints. That is not how to lead, my friend. You oppress your people and lead yourself."

"You think this is by chance?!" He barked, and the boy faltered at his voice and corrected himself immediately, forcing himself to continue glaring. "I did not come upon an Empire, I built one! With my own sweat and blood and the sweat and blood of people I cared for and who cared for me. Do not lecture me about sacrifice," he warned, stepping closer. "They are blind to their leader because he is a child; he is deaf because he resents the success of others rather than celebrating theirs. Nations grow from small victories and large sacrifices! You would do well to remember that, you impatient runt!" He raised his voice again and had to force himself not to turn away in the silence that followed. "This is your sacrifice," he went on, his even voice much quieter by comparison. "And it will be the first of many."

He scrambled backwards a few baby steps, and upon listening to his words, a deep anger filled his bones and he clenched his teeth, taking his small, compact hands and beating at his chest once with as much strength as he could muster, which wasn't enough to hurt him because he stood strong and resolute. His own words turned against him again. The boy moved away from the man and slumped down onto his bed, into the cushions made of foreign fabrics and chicken feathers where he broke into hysterics, curling in tight away from his leader.

"Leave me be!" He shouted when he still felt his presence. "Leave me be..."

Romulus watched and felt his chest tighten as if it were his own son, or himself, prostrate on the bed. The passion and bravery that reduced the boy to a sobbing wreck was almost tangible, he felt in his own chest the ache of being younger, weaker, mentally and physically ill equipped, and able to feel the pain of every lost soul in his care. "You will learn," he told him sincerely, but even if he had heard him, he didn't reply. Without another word, he left him, instructing the servant to take the boy water for the night.

He had expected to fall asleep when he was done. He was wrong to expect such a merciful thing, for the Gods had put him in this position and just as Romulus said, it would be hard. The servant had brought him water moments later, fresh, cool, and so clear that he didn't have time to savor it as he drank every drop from the jug. After the crying spell, he couldn't bring himself to sleep after the sobs had passed and his chest ached as it had when he got off the horse on his way to this very room. Soon dawn arrived and his head was heavy with fatigue, his eyes sore and swollen when the sun crept over the horizon of the beautiful white buildings cascading for miles. He was startled when a pair of arms politely alerted him to a somewhat awake stance. There was a twinkle of keys and he felt the lock between his wrists click open, and the cool, heavy air of the morning covered his freed hands. He moaned in relief, rubbing the irritated and burnt skin with careful fingers as he half-listened to Romulus' words, fighting to keep his eyes open.

"... and you will join us for breakfast," he continued to tell him, having to put a hand to his back every so often to keep him sitting upright. He honestly felt guilt. There was a strange, deep, fraternal bond between those of the earth, in that they understood each other's needs and weaknesses due to their position and respected them on a personal level, even during war. Or in this case, ignored them completely to assert authority. "I do not think Lovinus will talk to you after last night, but Felicianus is very forgiving..."

"Thank you," he mumbled, because he heard that he was getting food, and he wouldn't have to be spoon-fed to get it. He honestly respected the man, now that he wasn't being treated like a criminal and he was able to stand up and be lead out of the room. Apparently, eating food here warranted he needed to be clean to eat it, so eventually they parted ways and he was led off by servants. He complied with their demands and noted that after the very warm and uncomfortable bath, his head having to be scrubbed and wrestled until it was raw with soap and that they had to change the water because of the filth, he never saw his brownish aged tunic again. For good reason, too, even though he had grown attached to the thing. A servant had also tried to unhook his necklace, but he had sharply slapped them away, clutching the artifact to his neck as if they had tried to take away his soul. He had apologized quickly and returned to his job.

After the long process, the boy felt faint and every time he stood up he nearly toppled over again. He was helped into a Roman tunic, different from his Iberian one, and escorted to the dining room were they were just beginning plating. Felicianus had made a comment that he looked better, even though the boy was literally dead on his feet. He was sat down across from Romulus and flanked by the two boys, an odd setup compared to the cramped table he crowded around every morning to eat their routine morning meal, which was nothing compared to what was put in front of him.

As soon as the serving dishes were put down, the two young boys reached forward into the middle of the table and started scooping generous servings on to their plate. Romulus sat back and let them take what they wanted, purely because he liked to see them eating well. The young man across from him seemed to take it as manners and waited for them to finish. "Just help yourself," he told him, nodding to the boys as an example. Lovinus already had his mouth full and Felicianus was apparently trying to see how many grapes he could physically fit in his cheeks. Romulus smiled at him fondly and told him to be careful.

He slowly took a vine of grapes, having seen the likes of them before, but never so plump. He ate wild berries in the forested areas often, having learnt the rule that most of them were poisonous and made him deathly ill in bed for weeks at a time. He ate one, felt no pain since the young one was already stuffing his face with the things and ate another and another until he had practically cleaned out the bowl. He then moved on to the fish that had been presented, flaky and white and cooked so evenly he could have cried. Taking it into his hands once he realized that was the way to eat things here, already boned and filleted. He looked up, his mouth greasy in mid-bite when everyone was staring at him, even the slaves and servants in the corner. Romulus' sandaled foot was on his, a warning, and Felicianus' fingers reached over very carefully, gently pulling away his fourth and fifth fingers from the meat.

"Dirty people eat with five fingers." He explained innocently enough, and moved on to his meal.

The boy went on eating in his new way, licking his fingers appreciatively until he realized someone was watching, which again, struck them all as odd, but not enough to stop him again. He tried to look as if he was not enjoying his meal whatsoever, even although he threw his food back. He almost jumped in his seat when Lovinus burped loudly, looking around when no one commented. He ate like an animal, hunched over as if to hide his food from other predators, eating far too quickly to enjoy anything at all.

"Isn't there a lot of food where you come from, Hispania?" asked Felicianus, with childish, innocent, curiosity, but Romulus interrupted before the boy could answer.

"No," he corrected Felicianus, looking across to the young man and meeting his eye instead. "No more of this 'Hispania'— he is our guest. He will be named."

The young man had went for another fish when Romulus had announced this. He chewed the remainder of his food as quickly as possible and cleared his throat. "I do not need a name," he insisted, but his argument wasn't sitting very well because he was obviously not in charge of himself anymore. "Rome, please, it is not needed if I am just a guest, yes?" He laughed nervously, meeting his eye when he only stared at him like a savage and finding salvation from his mortification in his meal.

"More than a guest, then," he answered, surprised at his apparent need to provide difficulty. He had been very pleased with his choice, the ungrateful little swine. "You will be Antonius. It is a good, strong name. It means, 'worthy of praise'," he told his children, raising his eyebrows as if to ask if it suited him. Felicianus seemed very taken and Lovinus did not seem interested. As that was the usual state of affairs Romulus had little to no idea of what their actual opinions were.

If he ever wanted to name himself, he could have. He never felt the need for a name because it was just another nuisance, you never really belonged to a name like you did to your people, and to name all the people you were was too redundant. He raised his eyebrows, meeting Romulus' eye. To be named by him was like a stray hound being taken off the street in its early adult stages, a chain slapped over its neck and given a name, expected to be obedient and loving. "It is a nice name." He agreed, getting a good reaction from Romulus, nearly regretting having to continue. "It is just not... how do I say... nice for me? I haven't had a name for as long as I can remember, it is odd to suddenly have one."

"Civilized people have names," he agreed, realizing after he had spoken how harsh he had sounded. "I mean to say that a name is an important part of your integration into other societies... when a young woman at market asks your name, what will you tell her?" He joked, and his boys' eyes lit up as they tried not to laugh at the scandal.

He laughed as well, not afraid to show his emotions when he had been picked clean. Still, he was exhausted and hardly wanted to deal with any weight being added to his identity. "Well, I would tell her that I did not have one, just as anyone else without a name would."

Romulus looked at him for a long moment and then gave a tight, forced smile, going back to his meal. "You will leave empty-handed," he muttered.

"People like us shouldn't get into those situations." He went on, finishing his fish and sitting back when his tiny stomach had been push past its limit. "You said we should protect our people, and romancing with them would only leave them heartbroken."

He thought it a rather tense subject for the company of children (Antonius hadn't known who 'people like them' were until two days ago... he didn't have to be so damn righteous about it). Romulus only smiled again and looked to his boys, who were still busying themselves with their meals. "We can discuss it further later," he told him, noticing Antonius' empty plate and frowning. "You have not finished?"

"I apologize, my stomach is smaller than yours, and I am filled." He muttered. Felicianus and Lovinus looked at him as if he had spat on the plate and insulted their mother, but he honestly could not eat another bite. He already felt ill from the new foods, spices, and herbs he had never tasted before.

Romulus took a moment to remind himself to be sensitive again and breathed slowly through his nose. "It is alright," he nodded, looking to Felicianus and Lovinus and nodding to their plates, telling them to continue eating and not to draw attention to the matter. They did as they were told, even if they kept giving Antonius sideways glances.

Antonius, he decided. Antonius would be fine. He didn't want to upset them any further with his foreign ways, but it was hard to do anything and not upset them. Antonius had never been full in his life as far as he could remember, which was very far. "You should teach me table manners when I am more able." He told Romulus softly, standing up from his chair. "I am going to go back to my room."

He nodded, avoiding looking at the children, who appeared as if they were about to expire. Such rude manners and he was barely even noticed, never mind scolded! Felicianus leant forward when Antonius had left, wide-eyed and confused. They were as much of an island as Antonius was, only at the other end of the spectrum— the furthest from the city they had ever been was their own land just outside it, anything but Roman custom was alien and unacceptable. "Is it very different in Hispania?" He asked, and Romulus nodded gravely.

"It is uncivilized. We must help them," he told them, in the tone of a teacher, and they accepted his lessons without question.

Uncivilized, maybe, but he had plenty of troubles trying to be civilized. He wiped his hands on his new tunic on his way back to his room, a place he wasn't sure he ever wanted to come back to until he saw his bed. Now, he was full enough to sleep until winter, and he wished he could. Outside, he could hear talk of his land, but he couldn't care less. He only wished to sleep, and thankfully, his body allowed him just that.

Romulus left him until late afternoon, and woke Antonius gently again. A scholar came to the house to teach the boys their reading and writing, so he would take the time to show Antonius around, if he could be trusted. This time, he sat up unaided and listened well. "If I take you outside, you will not try to run again, will you?" He asked.

The food was good and he was allowed to rest until the sun was peaking in the sky, and he was treated decently, so Antonius decided on a whim that he would stay. "No, no." He replied, almost smiling now that his needs had been met. "The soldiers do not take kindly to handcuffed maniacs running through the streets."

"Someone handcuffed and screaming is usually someone we keep indoors," agreed Romulus, going over and pulling across the sheet that blocked some of the light from the thin window. "You won't need anything. We'll take a tour, is all," he told him, finding that he quite looked forward to the idea of an agreeable stroll and a chat. It was a fine afternoon. Perhaps he was getting old.

Antonius was struggling adapting to a room, a large manor, and even the thought of a calm stroll with nothing to stroll to. A name, most of all. He was assigned to it that very morning and ignored it when Romulus shook him awake, telling him he had forgotten it was his, already. Despite saying he wouldn't run off, Romulus did take a notion to hold Antonius' hand as if he was but three feet tall or lovers. His grip was iron, so he never made a motion to yank away from it, even though the man had a horrible habit of talking with his hands and by the time they made it out onto the streets his arm felt like wet wood.

He did love the city so dearly. Its constant noise, its life, its scale and grandeur and histories and cultures. "Antonius, you have no public meeting place? A hall, or court?" He asked, noticing the boy would always let his eyes linger on big groups of people, trying to figure out what they were plotting when they were merely discussing who was selling what and who was marrying who.

"No, I live in a small village; we met wherever the commotion arrived. If someone got in trouble, the main punishment was dunking their heads in a stream nearby." He explained. "We do not have laws, there, though. Only responsibilities." Antonius answered simply, feeling gazes being lingered on his very dark tan skin and his dark, coarse curls that were beyond any suitable length to be acceptable. Still, they smiled and moved out of the way, perhaps because he was adjacent to the Roman Empire.

Romulus pulled a face, something between amused and confused as they crossed a busy street. He had to pull Antonius out of the way of pedestrians and carts several times. "And what if they committed serious offences? What if they were murderers?" He wondered aloud.

The thought was unspeakable. Taboo. "No one ever killed each other, we were like a family." Were. Antonius smiled grimly, shaking his head. "Well, I did not expect no one to defend me. All of those people watched, and I could not tell if they wanted me out or if they thought it would be good for me."

The look of horror on his face almost sent Romulus into a fit of guilt again, but it was too humorous for that. Of all the cities for a young man who had never experienced murder to be walking around in... he'd probably witness two or three before they returned for their evening meal, and that was just the politicians. "You seem very simple," he replied, meaning it in the kindest of ways.

"You seem very superfluous," he said in return, and looked around at the small houses were women walked freely without their children wrapped to their backs or on their hands, but inside the homes, alone with a silent slave who tended to them. Unthinkable, to leave a child alone back where he was. They could be eaten by something or get lost in the forest, or eat something and choke on it.

Romulus noticed that his expression would constantly flicker between horrified and mesmerized whenever they turned a corner or faced a new sight. "What are you thinking?" He asked. "There is no need to censor yourself here."

Antonius snorted, Romulus slowing his pace down so they could stroll instead of rush about like a chicken with its head cut off. He saw new horrible, sometimes amazing and beautiful things at every point, and soon he felt overwhelmed and wanted to stop looking. "I do not have words for it." He said simply, shrugging his shoulders. "The mothers hate their children and refuse to care for them, the fathers discuss idle things instead of working, and you, a very important leader, stroll with me in your streets instead of governing your town."

"We call that 'leisure time', Antonius, you will grow to enjoy it..." he muttered, smiling to a woman he recognized across the way and nodding his head. She pretended to not have seen him and smiled as she walked on. "Governing a city such as this is beyond my knowledge," he laughed. "The Gods have blessed us all with distinct talents and mine do not lie in politics... leave it to those who know what they are doing."

Fair enough. Although it did not add up to how he had said he would learn to rule, but didn't know how to rule a city himself. Antonius didn't say more on the topic, only kept observing buildings and people and how slow everything was moving. A young woman caught his eye, quite the sight, and he smiled to her. She only laughed, turning to her older friends to chatter away. He looked back down, feeling his cheeks burn. "I meant to give your sons these bracelets," he remembered aloud, showing him the worn down hemp bracelets that retained their weave. "I am good at weaving, nothing else, apparently."

"You are good at answering back and tricking children," Romulus reminded him, giving him a short smile to show he was not serious, at least not serious enough that Antonius should feel guilty. "You should show them how to make their own when you find time. They love the arts, Felicianus is always... making things. I do not think I have raised a warrior between them," he added, embarrassed to find his tone sounded quite resentful— he wouldn't change his boys for the world. He just wished they would be able to defend themselves without his having to worry.

Antonius agreed. "It is a valuable art, weaving. The enemies or, animals, in my case, do not expect a knotted trap. That was how I caught most of my game." He smiled, feeling Romulus' hand grow sweaty and the urge to yank away itch at his mood. "I believe I know how to make more knots than you can!" He thought, laughing and giving Romulus a light tap on the shoulder. "Just as well, my mind is more open than yours, I am sure to learn much here, even if it won't reflect on my people." Antonius said, his tone filled with an air of confidence and just how stubborn he was. "Just the same."

A man with a purple silk sash was clutched out of the streets by his collar and caught Antonius' eye. His scream was drowned out by the clamor of the marketplace and the killer came out in time with their pace, right beside him. He felt Romulus pull him to the other side of the street while the normal man wiped the bloodstained knife on someone else's toga and moved on calmly.

"Head down," he whispered, moving his hand to grip Antonius' upper arm tightly when he noticed him pale and try to spot the armed man again in the crowd and tugging him further along the road quickly out of harm's way. "Keep your head down," he muttered more harshly, never releasing him until he couldn't see the murderer anymore. "I will report it later. You never, ever react in the street."

He hadn't witnessed a murder in his life. He had witnessed deaths, many of them animals' and many of them belonging to his people, but never a total stranger. "Why did not anyone stop him?" He babbled, the hair on his arms and his legs standing on end, the calm summer air suddenly so cold. "He was an innocent man! Was he? Why would everyone act as if nothing had happened? What kind of city do you run where people are dying in the alleyways?!"

"Antonius, be calm," Romulus interrupted, finding difficulty in continuing to walk on without arousing suspicion and looking him in the eye to make him realize the seriousness of the situation. "I do not know what that man's motivation was, and you will find crime in any large city. We're hardly Spartans," he scoffed, realized again that Antonius' limited knowledge left him out of such jokes and went on. "You make yourself vulnerable when you are surprised, in any case— you become distracted. I know his face now, I will report him. Please, be calm."

He struggled to breathe, looking anywhere but his eye to anyone who could help. A guard, a soldier, or even Romulus himself. "A murder, a murder? This is what it is? Unjust killing for one's benefit? Think of the family he has at home! Think, perhaps he has two boys of his own and a wife. What are they to do without him, now?" He spat, wiping the cold sweat from his forehead with shaking hands. "You take pride in this city?"

"I do, as a matter of fact," he replied shortly, silently debating whether to walk off the path and find somewhere to sit down or to make the boy walk on. They walked. "What am I to do, Antonius? What is anyone supposed to do? The rest of us have a family at home who would have to do without us when we were to become involved."

Antonius shakily wiped his eyes and looked back to the crime scene, where the murderer stalked right behind him by three yards, looking him directly in the eye. "I'd like to go back home, now." He told him, his head frozen into place as he put himself back into Romulus' grip to ensure safety. He obviously knew what he was doing. Antonius had been hurt before, but never would he be dead, did he think. "Before I leave my people forever."

Romulus glanced to him, purposefully not joining him in looking back, and dragged him through an alleyway to circle back again so they did not have to turn and walk past the scene. As the sun was blocked by the buildings and they fell into cool shadow, he let go of Antonius again and looked at him, confused. "What do you mean?" He asked. "Leave them forever?"

"Before I die? Another man will take my place when I die, won't he? Therefore, I will leave them, and resurrect in another body." He told him. "I have never been hurt like you hurt my arm when you knew I was different, I had only close encounters with wolves and illnesses..." Antonius explained, looking to Romulus' face and seeing him smirking. "Well, I am sure you have never been injured very much! You are strong and large! It is not easier for me."

"Antonius," he laughed, watching the expression twist on his young, naive face when he did so. "Antonius, it does not matter what happens to you. If you still represent a people, however small, you will survive. Others like us have died, but only when their nations have fallen. You are built for your purpose, my boy. Did you not think it odd that you had grown so little after so long? That you appear so weak and thin, but you can hunt wild dogs?" He asked, and laughed again. "You accept everything too blindly... you expect things to be just so because there is no reason to believe otherwise."

Antonius inhaled deeply and shrugged his shoulders back, still very sore from various activities in Rome. "I did not think that I appeared so puny to you, Romulus, but I am glad that you are so honest." He sighed, trying to process his lesson. "I still do not understand, though. You say we can survive, but is there a limit?" A small boy ducked between them, running off from a smaller girl who whined and cried after him in messy Latin. "What of your boys, who have no people to rule?"

"They do, of course they do," he replied, interrupting their conversation to crouch and tell the girl that the boy ran to the left when she sped forward to try to catch up to him again. "Their people live outside of the city. In the same way that you will live under Rome, they live under me." In truth, there were very few people in either of his boys' home areas, and they were a young people at that. Sometimes he wondered if they were even aware that they were there or they had become so used to the city, to the feeling of having a people, having grown up without a change in the weight of their responsibility, that they had forgotten about it.

He again, hated the thought of being under him for so long, but accepted it for the time being and moved on. The next site Romulus had slowed his footing at was a large arena, white and brilliant in the sun. People were chanting _'leo, leo, leo'_ and throwing their fists in the air at perhaps the largest beast Antonius had ever seen.

"What is that?" He asked breathlessly, overlooking the arena on the walkway on the hill and seeing the beast gracefully pounce on the man taunting him, tearing him to shreds with its claws and seeing blood splattered all over the floor. The crowd cheered, and when Romulus made a point to keep walking he gripped the stone railing on the bridge stubbornly. "What is that?"

"That is a criminal," he answered, quickly correcting himself when he realized Antonius was watching the beast, rather than the remains it was now gorging itself on. "That is a lion. They come from the south, across the desert and sea. They are only wild cats..."— he was interrupted when another was released, and it started fighting the animal already eating, battering it with its huge paws as they both stood on their hind legs and roared. The crowd held its breath. Another convict trembled and shook his head, pleaded, as the guards forced him to step forward - "... but much larger."

"A lion," his mouth tested the word, and he knew he instantly did not want to become a criminal. It was simple enough. "Have they deserved it? A death to the crowd and a beast against them?" He asked, wincing when the smaller one was injured enough to fall and the larger one sniffed out the criminal banging on the gates of the arena. The lion took him by his neck and tore him around as if he were nothing but a tough piece of meat. The crowd cheered and hollered, throwing flowers down onto the beast. "What have they done to deserve such a cruel, unspeakable death?"

Romulus shrugged and stepped onward, but Antonius did not follow him, so he had to stay. The boy couldn't have possibly walked past a school, or an aqueduct, or even a sewer, nothing that appealed to his sensitive nature of preserving 'innocence' (what was innocence, anyway? Romulus had yet to meet a human, much less a nation, with it. It was a notion dreamt up by those who could not face reality). "That could be the murderer you saw earlier. Deserters, conspirators, Christians..." He didn't know how to explain concisely to Antonius that Christians were once persecuted much more heavily, generally begrudgingly tolerated. Under the current leader, they were only slaughtered if and when they spoke against Jupiter or deserted the army so as not to cause anybody harm (the campaign for peace was another thing Romulus found time-wasting. Wars were fought and people died. It was the way of the world). Unfortunately, many of them chose to do so. "They will have done something wrong. They are not innocent."

Antonius would have given everything he had to go back to his village and see the usual flow of people, the mothers with their children so lovingly carried on their backs or on their hips. He saw nothing of that, here, only women with elaborate hairstyles and jewels lining their faces, jewels that could only be used for money and not such trivial uses. However, he had not a clue what a Christian was, only rumors that they believed in one God and that was it, or how people could conspire. After the afternoon passed, he knew several ways how they could, and feared another stroll like this might end his life. He walked on with him, clutching his hand tight instead of letting himself be clutched by it, and moved on. They saw a school and a temple, both of which Antonius was fascinated by but didn't know how to deal with. Romulus said he had saw another murder, but Antonius was too busy people-watching to notice.

Honestly, on an average day, Romulus would have been surprised to see two attacks. He supposed it was simply because he felt some kind of tension, turning in time to see one man put his hand back into his robes as another clutched his side and fell against a wall, but he felt that Antonius had been given the impression that all they did of a day was murder people and watch wild beasts tear human beings apart. He was enthusiastic to show him the theatre, and the public baths, but he didn't seem as influenced. He didn't see why a theatre was necessary ('to improve culture' didn't hold any water for him), or why anyone would make an effort to get outside when he had bathed perfectly well in the house. Romulus felt his pride bruise every time the boy struggled to compliment his proudest achievements.

Antonius had made it back to the estate after a long-winded insult of Rome that sent Romulus into a huffing fit, mostly consisting of his lack of order, surplus of useless amenities and a need for better forms of punishment than simply throwing them to the lions. Once he was let in, servants offered a bath for him, which he feverishly denied, and followed his leader. "What is the matter? I merely only gave you advice? These techniques have worked well in my village."

"Was anyone of them starving?" He asked bluntly, cutting over Antonius and turning to face him, still in his foul mood. "They worked well in your village because your village is full of backward people who know no better and are uncivilized and uncultured... in everyone but me you see something positive, you assume they are innocent and we have cruelly misjudged them, and I am some fool who does not know how to conduct his own people."

He straightened. "Perhaps you should stop making excuses for your ill-planned actions and try to fix the problems." Antonius said curtly, trying to measure up to his tall height by rolling up onto his toes. "Who are you to say we are uncivilized and uncultured when you did not live a day in our lives? And, for the record, they were not starving! We were perfectly used to fasting for a day or more, in fact, it was healthy. I cannot tell you how many overweight men and women I saw today that were on the verge of death by the hanging of their bellies." For reason that he couldn't count, but he'd keep that secret.

"I have been patient," Romulus warned him carefully, stepping forward and putting his shoulders back, staring down at him to remind him that no matter how he positioned himself, he was inferior. "But I have also allowed you to witness what happens to those who choose to cause trouble. I will not have anarchy in my city and I will certainly not have it from a child who thinks he knows better than I do. It is the opposite— your ignorance allows you to believe you can say these things and go unpunished... let me instruct you, Antonius, you cannot. I am already too lenient, any other man would let you starve for saying as much," he threatened, standing straight again. "If you would like to be fed and watered, begin by learning some humility. If you would like to suffer at the hands of the law when you are taken for stealing your meals, then go ahead. You may not die, but I for one would rather be killed than survive my punishment against a lion," he finished, embellishing, perhaps, but he was sure it would have the desired effect.

Humility? If Antonius knew the meaning to the word and how one could suffer at the end of the law's stick he would obey, but he knew either, so he laughed in the face of the man even if his legs quivered in fear and every inch of his body was telling him not to go any further. "I merely stated my opinion of this town! Yet, you say I will be thrown to the lions for my words, which are not physical like a murderer's knife? If you find no error in the law you control, I pity you for not having a human heart!" He said after him, stepping back when Romulus drew closer. "I am not causing trouble as you think, my friend, I am simply saying what I believe. There is no harm in that."

"Even if what you say is inoffensive, which it is not," started Romulus again, taking another step forward, to eventually corner him against the wall like vermin, and remind him of his place. "Your manner is out of line. You are a captive, you are a particular type of captive but you are still only a captive. We had no responsibility to treat you with any dignity at all, yet we clothed you and bathed you and fed you, you had no question over whether or not I had a heart then!"

"Purely for the reason that I had been taken from my home and I was grateful for anything given to me after I had been left in a room with nothing!" Antonius yelled back at him, faltering from his glare, looking at his new shoes, and shying away from him. "If I am still a captive, why am I treated so different if you insist I am out of line? Even so, I felt no dignity being scrubbed until my skin burned with pumice rocks, and truthfully I preferred my old clothes over these..." He muttered.

"Then you will be given nothing!" He shouted, looking away quickly to catch his breath again, he couldn't face the idea of looking as if the boy had bested him, even if it was true. "Until you show some gratitude you can expect nothing more from us, do not complain to me when you starve. You are given fair warning."

Antonius winced at him raising his voice, but shrugged at him, intentionally bumping him on his way out of the corner he had been backed into. He heard Romulus stiffen and sigh, but nothing more. Antonius was intending to get himself lost, however if he got hungry there was no way he'd find his way back. He instead slowly shuffled around once he was out of his leader's view and glanced at the paintings on the walls.


	3. Chapter 3

The boys were much more upset than Romulus had imagined they would be when Antonius did not come to the table that night. They asked where he was and he had told them that he had disrespected and insulted them, and they had looked at him in the way children do that lets their guardians know they are aware, and possibly slightly afraid, but more defiant. They did not look like they admired him, at any rate, and Romulus felt it, but stood resolute and told them they were not to speak to Antonius or even go to his room. Naturally, they made plans to smuggle food into his room to talk to him that night.

After convincing a servant to give them a tray of food and simply saying that it would be worth his while if they did not say a thing about it to Romulus, they entered quietly into their newest playmate's room, where he had instantly woken up again in a panic at the sound of someone approaching him. Lovinus, who was carrying the tray and hunched over to support it because the thing was damn heavy, jumped and spilled the wine they had convinced the servant to pour for them after he got the gist of them sneaking food over the platter by a few drops. "What are you two doing?" He asked groggily, sitting up immediately and wrapping his blanket over his shoulders. "Is this going to become a regular occurrence?"

Neither of them quite knew what to say. They had just decided it had to be done, whether it was a fit of rebellion at seeing Antonius so resilient, or simply that he seemed decent and they didn't want him to suffer wasn't apparent— neither occurred to them. They just thought it right. Lovinus put the tray down and carefully slid it over to Antonius' bed, muttering something about him not starving. Felicianus did his little trick in folding his clothes about his knees so his bare legs didn't touch the cold floor and sat down. "Why is he so angry?" he whispered, looking up to Antonius with wide, wondering eyes.

Antonius huffed, thanking them both before standing up and laying out his blanket beside his bed so he could sit on it and the boys could join, too, which they immediately did. "He doesn't think I am acting grateful enough." He whispered back, taking the dried meat into his hands and practically whining when Felicianus stopped him before he dug in and pulled his last two fingers away while glaring at him. "I did not want to be here, or to be bathed like a piece of clothing or fed and looked at as if I am vermin! Yet, he expects me to feel gratitude. I do not understand him, and I do not like him in the slightest."

They both stared at him for a moment, appalled, before their expressions changed— Lovinus' grew sour and he glared horribly, Felicianus looked deeply offended, as if he were about to burst into tears. "We have everything anyone could want here," he told Antonius quickly, his voice very rehearsed when he spoke. "He wants to help you, Avus is a good man," he nodded enthusiastically, convincing himself, and his brother rather aggressively agreed. "There are worse places you could be, there are bad men from the north who could have taken you. They would not feed you or bathe you at all," he scolded, with a hint of terror in his voice.

"I am sure there are worse places to be," he said with his mouth full, trying not to roll his eyes in front of them. "However, I would much rather prefer being treated as an actual captive, where I could make a plan to escape rather than be treated like a child by Romulus and have to stay in this walled city." Antonius said, looking at their faces from the feast they had brought him and sighing. "He is a kind man, but I ask you, did I really need bathed so roughly?"

"You are ungrateful," replied Lovinus after a beat, horrifically honest. Felicianus, having grown used to it, did not react at all and continued to stare at his lap. He did not like confrontation of any kind, and gossip made him uncomfortable. "You are vile to a good man because he bathed you too roughly? Did he clothe you too well? Have we brought you too much food?" He asked, in a whispered snap, and his brother hissed his name quickly under his breath.

Antonius couldn't help but laugh at the boy, only because he was right and proved his own points wrong. How old was he again? Too old for his body, of course. "I am vile to him for he has been vile to me! I had people to govern and he has uprooted me from them, and brought me here where I cannot deal with their problems for them. He calls me a child but I am not, I am—" He huffed, flustered and unable to think of the right word and giving up, stuffing his face and disregarding everything the older one said for the time being.

"He would be kind if you were to try to please him," mumbled Felicianus, wary of whether or not the heated debate was over. "That is all he asks of anyone, he tells us very often, doesn't he, Lovinus? People have different talents, he tells us. He always tells us, 'for every general that makes history, there must be a scholar to write it'."

"It is very big of him to only be kind to people who try to please him," he retorted under his breath, downing the wine as if it were the watery grape drink he had at home and having quite the shock. The mixture was put together nicely, perfectly even. He had known the Romans were advanced but were they so advanced to perfect such a complex drink? Despite himself, he respected the man, but stood against everything he stood for. "While on the topic of talents," he went on, wishing he had more of the wine after it had been drained out of the cup. "I have these for you, even if you did not win the battle. I thought you would like them, nonetheless." He smiled, setting down the glass and unhooking the hemp bracelets from his wrists. "I can make more easily."

Each of the boys took one and put them to their wrists, having difficulty in securing them. Lovinus struggled onwards alone while Felicianus stuck his arm out and asked Antonius to help, which he did. "Is there not much else to do in Hispania?" He asked, with the frank honesty young children tend to display as he watched Antonius work.

Antonius slowly and gently took Lovino's wrist into fasten it while he smiled towards Feliciano, cheered up by the successful drink, as if it had been his own. "Well, there is plenty to do in the village where I came from, perhaps not as much as there is here. We can tend to the livestock we have or fetch water for the people; we also repair buildings and make weapons. I made my own. I weaved bracelets from the wild grass for share of food such as bread from the baker and fruit from the farmer. You had to catch your own dinner, but many of the games I've eaten here are impossible to catch at home. It is confusing to me."

Lovinus carefully watched how he tied the knot so he would never have to ask for help if it came loose again. "Everyone catches their own food?" asked Felicianus, shuffling closer to Antonius, absolutely rapt with interest. "Aren't there farmers and hunters?"

"Yes." He replied, nodding. "I was the best hunter. I gave the game I did not need to people who needed it. There were crops, but they died in the drought. Romulus came when we were all starving since the game had been driven out of the area towards water."

"That was lucky," smiled Felicianus. They must have been very grateful to become Romans, then, because Felicianus had never gone hungry, and he was very seldom thirsty, either. "Do you miss it very much?"

Antonius couldn't agree quickly enough. He cut the young boy off. "Yes, absolutely. I do not like the feeling that I am a 'savage' so to speak." He admitted, finishing off his food as if he had never ate a day in his life and ignoring their looks of shame. "This is the way that I am and I doubt Romulus can change that..."

"So everyone there is like you?" asked Lovinus, making no attempt to pretend he was not judging him as he finished his meal. "Your family?"

"I do not have a family, it is just me." He answered him sharply, but softened. "You are lucky to have a brother and a father. I am sure he tells you so."

Lovinus seemed to consider and then nodded, but Felicianus could not comprehend the idea. "You have no one?" He asked, seemingly heartbroken. "Who took care of you when you were small?"

Antonius, now full and satisfied, wiped his mouth with his hands and brushed it on his clothes while he thought of his past. "I do not remember, to be honest with you. I only remember taking care of myself." He yawned. "The people took care of me, I suppose."

"Are you happy to have a family now?" asked Felicianus, after a long moment of looking at his hands and trying to imagine what it would be like to have to feed and wash and dress himself, with no one to take care of him. He didn't like it very much at all.

He hadn't noticed the sheer amount of questions children had until he had a conversation with the two boys. And truthfully, he had to think about his answer. It had never occurred to him that he needed a family, but now that he was being cared for even though he could do it on his own, he had become the slightest bit happier. "A little." replied Antonius, smiling at him. "It is very nice to have someone to talk to who doesn't turn away. I enjoy it very much."

The answer satisfied them very much— even little Lovinus looked away to hide how pleased he was. Felicianus grinned and stood up, patting himself down. "Will you show us how to make these when you have the time?" He asked, pointing to the hemp bracelet on his wrist, tied as tightly as Antonius could possibly manage, and still too big for him.

"Yes, yes I can. It is easy; I believe you will take to it." He beamed back, setting the tray aside and moving back to his bed. "Thank you for bringing me food, I needed it." Antonius said sincerely. He watched them get up and yawn, stretching their little bodies before crumpling under the weight of their fatigue. "You should not do this anymore, though. I believe we will have plenty of time to speak to each other during the day, now."

Felicianus nodded, pleased that they could reach an agreement, but Lovinus was not as satisfied.

"Will you apologize so we will not have to?" he asked, walking over to take the tray back, handing his brother the empty cup to carry.

Apologize? He couldn't help but laugh, but given their faces, he should have taken them seriously. "Yes, in the morning I shall." He replied, setting his head on the pillow and tucking himself into the blanket. "Good night, Felicianus, and good night Lovinus."

"Good night," they replied in unison, Felicianus spoke very enthusiastically while Lovinus spoke with finality, as always, they made haste with their exit — somewhere along the hall came the noise of a cup being dropped and grabbed again, and their footsteps sped up until they were out of earshot.

Luckily, them being quiet and calculated about their exit had not warranted the arrival of Romulus, and Antonius went back to sleep in a better mood and a full stomach. Dreams were peaceful that night. He slept until a servant stirred him from his bed with her soft, maternal hands in the morning, much to his displeasure. He believed that he had not slept enough, but whenever he was woken up, it was usually important.

Antonius regretted his thoughts of her being a servant when the woman continued to touch his face and examine his jaw. He opened his eyes to find a longhaired beauty crouched by his bedside with leaves tucked gently behind her ears in an odd crown. Her skin was as dark as his was, cloaked in a pristine white robe many women wore around Rome.

"A fine one," she said softly to Romulus beside her, standing hesitantly and shuffling his feet. "He looks strong for his age."

"Yes, he is," agreed Romulus amiably, smiling to her as he crouched down and joined in softly stirring Antonius, although she never looked to him. "I am sorry to wake you so early, but we have company," he told him, giving his leg a pat and smiling to the woman again, and this time she smiled back politely. "Please, get dressed and come to the dining room so we can introduce ourselves properly."

Antonius didn't know if he was dreaming and this woman was his lover to be or if this was a sick, twisted reality where Romulus was being incredibly nice for no reason, especially after he had screamed at him the day before and ordered him not to be fed, watered, bathed, or cultured in any way. He blinked and stared at his leader from his pillow, who snapped his fingers at him, hissing for him to hurry up when the woman had her back turned and got up from her knees to walk herself out of the room. A facade, of course. He was in the real world. What a cruel awakening it had been, too.

Romulus went after her and followed her down the hall until they came upon a servant, who he asked to show her to the dining room and excused himself. "I'll make sure he has what he needs," he told her, bowing his head and standing to walk back again. "He is still adjusting," he laughed, and she nodded, following the servant. The smile left his face as soon as he walked back into the room, immediately catching Antonius by the collar of the tunic he had been sleeping in and holding him tight in his grip. "Listen well," he started warningly, leaning down to look him in the eye. "I am willing to forgive and forget anything and everything that has passed between us. I will take blame. After this affair we may discuss your complaints. However, if you do not behave absolutely impeccably from this moment until you are told otherwise I will have you whipped, is that understood?"

Antonius cried out in surprise while his fist clutched at the spare fabric on his tunic and a foreign wind brushed at the hair on his thighs, grasping his arm to keep him from throwing him. He listened and listened well, finally nodding frantically, feeling the weight of his body return to the ground and a servant rush to help him into a spare change of clothes. They did so quickly, combing his hair with a bone comb to make up for the bath that he needed but didn't have time to have, and escorting him to the dining room. He apologized to Romulus for his tardiness and most importantly, the smiling, dark brown haired woman who gleamed with beauty and dampened power. She had the same air about herself as Romulus did, only she had a sort of kindness about her that seemed motherly and comfortable. Antonius took his seat that they offered him, across from Romulus and beside the siren, the two boys sleepily making their way in and sitting on his left side.

Romulus cleared his throat loudly and smiled to his boys. Lovinus barely concealed an eye-roll but he was thankfully masked by Felicianus as they stood up again and stepped back to introduce themselves (as they had done to Antonius), and wish the woman good morning. She nodded politely and smiled warmly to them, wished them a good day, too, and then looked to Antonius. He looked around and Romulus met his eye and glared dangerously, silently nodding for him to do the same.

He had not gotten any previous training for this! Antonius suddenly felt like he was alone, fighting a losing battle on his own ground, and feared being clubbed over the head yet again. However, if he were carried to where she lived, he wouldn't mind. He stood up awkwardly, brushing off his toga and clearing his throat. It seemed simple enough. "Hello, I am Antonius, subject to Romulus and ruler of Hispania," he told her, grinning like an idiot when she smiled at him. Quickly sitting back down before she even nodded to him to return to his chair. The boys were still tired as well, but at least they knew how to act for other people like them. He was already at a severe disadvantage.

It seemed the message had been well received. Romulus caught his eye again and nodded, clearing his throat and smiling again. "Thank you, Antonius. May I introduce Ath-"

"Thank you, Romulus," the woman interrupted, in much the same overly pleasant tone, as if to play him at his own game. She knew him too well to be surprised now. "I founded a nation, I can introduce myself," she went on, and he laughed heartily and gestured for her to continue. "I am Athena, founder and ruler of Greece," she told them, copying the format of their introduction, hoping to make a good impression on the young boys. They both smiled.

Antonius didn't smile. In fact, he felt ill sitting next to her. Such a powerful woman! He drank the water placed in front of him eagerly, catching eye with Romulus over the cup and feeling his long legs shift under the stone table. He set his glass down, although he was still parched and didn't want to seem like a pig. Still, a servant refilled his glass and he sipped at it, suddenly trembling. Beside him sat Greece, so intelligent and strong! "I've never been," he told her conversationally, if he was allowed. "I must be beautiful, I've heard good words from travelers that pass through to rest."

Romulus made to press his foot warningly against Antonius' toes, but he stopped when Athena laughed lightly and smiled to the boy, seemingly very flattered. "How kind of you to say," she replied. "Yes, it is very beautiful, if I say so myself, but we have been having some trouble of late..." she continued, raising her eyebrows as she turned her gaze to Romulus, who nodded.

"We settle our disputes with debate and not violence when we can," he said, waiting for his boys to nod with him as if they were told so every day of the week. "In the name of diplomacy we will host dinner tonight with a hope to settle any... disagreements."

"I wish we could have debated my being captured instead of doing it so forcefully, then." He muttered under his breath, looking to Romulus across the table as the platters were laid out in front of them from the kitchen, and Antonius felt the hard edge of Romulus' sandal forcefully scrape off the surface of the skin on his leg just as he clasped a spoon serving what he assumed they had for dinner the previous night. He suppressed his scream of pain into a small yelp, tears budding up in his eyes as he yanked his hand away.

"Oh, darling, what is the matter?" Athena asked, carefully taking his wrist and inspecting his hand.

"The spoon was hot," he said quickly, smiling sheepishly, tugging away. "It is fine, we heal quickly, remember?" He laughed, and let the servant serve the soup-meal onto his plate for him, as well as everyone else.

"That we do," she agreed, smiling to him constantly, "... but please, do take care. I would rather you were not hurt than you healed quickly." She waited for someone else to begin eating, having forgotten if there was some way she was supposed to honor her host, but the two youngest began immediately, so she did not wait. "It is good to see them so fit," she commented, and Romulus beamed and nodded again.

"They will be good, strong men," he laughed. "How is Herakles?" He asked, neglecting his meal somewhat to listen intently.

"Growing up so quickly. He's older than your Felicianus and Lovinus." She told him, sighing while she looked down at her morning meal. "Could I have a ligula— yes, thank you..." Athena mumbled to a servant, clutching the spoon and smiling when it was ready for her. "Romulus, I gave you spoons but you never use them?" She asked raising her eyebrows at Antonius drinking from his bowl as if it was wine and turning to her host, who had nothing but did not touch his food. She took a small spoonful of the meal and pointedly reached for the salt, making direct eye contact with the cook and sprinkled it on her meal. It would do. Roman meals weren't her favorite; in fact, she almost hated them, but they would sustain her.

"It must have slipped my mind, forgive me," he admitted, asking for the rest of the set to be given out. Felicianus, Lovinus and Antonius held their implements awkwardly and stared at him, waiting for him to eat first and sheepishly following his example.

Antonius was still whimpering over the loss of skin on his leg, wanting to check it but realizing Lovinus would look at his leg and say something to the entire table about it. He waited until Romulus and Athena were engrossed in politics until he slowly looked down to his bloody leg, the skin reformed and screaming red, a bruise coming and going. Those sandals were violent! Lovinus looked down from his war with the spoon to see this, and looked at him wide-eyed, but turned swiftly back to his meal. They seemed to know the rules of company better than anyone else.

He sat with his legs crossed over the damaged skin, wiping his tears aside before anyone noticed him doing so and mimicking the beautiful woman's fingers as she handled the silver. "No worries," she smiled easily enough, rubbing Antonius' shoulder as she looked towards her host. "It'd be nice for them to have culture from a different culture, if you can handle." Athena chuckled, eating her meal faster than anyone else at the table had. "Besides, I am positive these will be useful down the road, believe me."

Romulus agreed with a chuckle as she went back to her meal, keeping his eye on Antonius. He would have been about his age when he first saw her, although she was younger then too, probably as beautiful but not quite as awe-inspiring. He recognized the tensing of Antonius' shoulders as the feeling of a spark paralyzing his muscles when her skin brushed against his. He recognized the quiet moment to open his mouth and take another breath as the tightening of his lungs in his chest. He recognized the way he looked quickly back to his plate as the humiliating warmth at his neck spreading to his face. Romulus had lived it, and often. He was ready to scrape his sandal along his other shin to make them match, if the boy didn't mind himself.

Athena finished her meal, calmly taking bits of fruit from the platter in front of her as a servant took her bowl. She knew she had to keep snacking, as per Roman rule. Antonius eventually gave up with the spoon and drank the rest of his meal, wincing again from an unknown source. The food wasn't even that blistering to wince at. She looked quickly to Romulus to find the same confusion she wore, but disregarded it. "So, Romulus, how long has Antonius been here? I'm guessing not too long."

"Days," he replied, looking up from his meal and nodding in agreement. "Yesterday was his first time in the city, quite an education for him..." he laughed, looking to Antonius to nod too, and back him up. "A little overwhelming, perhaps..."

Antonius moved his legs to the side, where Romulus could not reach him, nodding. "I said that I thought the way his citizens deal with murder is unacceptable and unclean. He didn't seem to agree with me." Antonius smiled to her, turning to look at him. "In fact, we don't seem to agree on a lot of things, but we're trying to fix that."

Athena looked from Antonius to Romulus, amused, and impressed at the boy's backbone. "How is it that your citizens deal with murder, Romulus?" She asked, raising her eyebrows, and he stared at her for a long moment, looking back to his plate and taking a breath before he looked back to answer.

"We had the misfortune of witnessing an attack," he confessed, "...and it upset Antonius that no one would sacrifice their safety to save the life of a man who had already died. Of course I reported the attack later that day, the criminal cannot go unpunished," he said firmly, remembering that his dear flesh and blood were sitting beside him when he heard no reaction besides Felicianus dropping his spoon onto the table as he craned up to his grandfather. He softened and turned to pat his head before going on with his meal. "Nothing to be concerned about."

"I do not agree," he mumbled, finishing next and remembering that it wasn't polite to leave the table, so he followed Athena's example and continued to peck at the food on the table. He had to say the last word. "If Rome were the perfect city, would there be any murder?" Antonius looked to the children sitting by him and his leader, and merely shrugged, smiling politely. "It is a topic for you to discuss tonight, Romulus, if you so choose to at your dinner tonight."

"I never claimed it was perfect," he replied pleasantly, with poorly masked offense. "But you are right, perhaps this should be discussed in more... appropriate company," he agreed, nodding to his children as they ate and smiling to Antonius and Athena, who also nodded in understanding, and smirked as she met his eye, making it plain that she had recognized his discomfort.

Thankfully, the breakfast ended soon and he was specifically ignored or shot down in conversations if he put in his two coins. The tutor had come to study with the boys, and Antonius waited by the door for further instruction. Athena merely glanced at the blood on his shins. "Oh, it looks like blood, but it is in fact dirt. I fell on my way here, I am still not used to the footwear." He explained, laughing, getting a small look from Romulus as he escorted her out.

"You must be more careful..." Athena shook her head. "However, I recall Romulus at your age. He was the same. I doubted he could even swing a sword with the way his limbs worked!" She laughed, patting her friend's shoulder and moving to leave. "You should bathe for tonight while Romulus shows me his latest changes. He will be present, won't he?" She asked the elder, expectant.

"Of course," he answered, smiling to her, after a beat to collect his thoughts. "He is old enough to understand these matters... and perfectly capable of voicing his opinions on them," he added in an undertone, looking back to Antonius, meeting his eye and then glancing to his shins. "Take care where you tread," he reminded him, giving him a final stare after holding a hand out, allowing Athena to go before him.

"I will try to be more careful next time." He responded, his facial expression saying just the opposite. If he had already dug himself into a hole so deep, there was no use in going back up. He watched him go, being escorted by a servant to the bath where his water was already waiting, too warm for his comfort yet again, even if they all insisted the water was too cool for their liking, and they he should have hurried. He was scrubbed until his skin went raw and they took caution upon seeing his legs, although one had disregarded it and scrubbed anyway, wondering why the pumice stone had blood on it when he had no wounds to speak of.

"He seems like a free soul." Athena chuckled, strolling idly beside him as he gestured to new statues, all carved from white stones such as hers. She was not as irritated as she would have liked to be about them.

"That would be one way to describe it," sighed Romulus, looking to her as she walked, never looking back to his face, finding more interest in the architecture, the commotion, the weather... anything else at all. "I apologize if it seemed that he spoke out of turn, he was trying to impress," he tutted, as if he found it wholly endearing. "I think the boy is somewhat infatuated, if I am honest."

"Infatuated, you say?" Laughed she, very aware that the boy had seemed shy with her. "Perhaps that is true, he reminds me of when you were young." She told him, looking at his face to see his reaction. "Lovestruck, hopelessly lost in the realms of architecture, fresh from the bosom of a she-wolf..."

He cringed and shook his head. "Be kind, you embarrass me," he laughed, wanting to look away and not being able to bring himself to do so, now that she was facing him. "If he is anything like I was, there is hope for him yet," he reasoned. "Perhaps he will be successful, too."

"Perhaps even more." She said, smirking at him when he shook his head. "You said he had no family, perhaps instead of a she-wolf he was nursed by a lamb, since he is so thin." Athena offered, and turned her head to the city and spotting a near exact replica of a building she had designed, only built from poorer materials. "The aqueducts are new." She commented, tilting her head. "Although a hair's bit off center,"

Nursed by rats and other cunning, thieving vermin, more like. He put all thoughts of Antonius out of mind and stood craning up beside Athena instead. "I did not realize you were an architect, now, too," he commented, raising his arm to shield his eyes from the sun.

Athena shrugged, chuckling. "I'm of many things. I would have thought you would do much more other than politics and war, however I seem to influence your work in everything else." She mumbled, turning away from the summer's sun to keep moving on their tour. "And Antonius tells us that murders take place here? Have you ever been slain by your own people?"

She thought she 'influenced' him. Almost correct— she was his muse. "I have, as it happens," he admitted, unsurprised to find that the news did not shock her either. "Nothing too noteworthy. Being close acquaintances with everyone in any position of power apparently merits a few enemies," he told her, smiling as if he were proud.

"It has been the same way with me, do not worry." She told him, sighing. "I sincerely hope they do not go after Herakles, especially at an age so young as his. The same goes for your boys and Antonius." Athena nodded solemnly, looking throughout the crowd of Romans, all busy at work and some walking along as they were.

"I cannot speak for my boys, but do you know," he started, wondering if she'd find it as comical, or oddly endearing, as he did, "... the first time I saw Antonius, he made to attack me. On his own. I was stood in armor with twenty men beside me, and he ran at us alone with a falcata," he laughed. "Ordered me to leave that very instant or he'd force me back. But I am persistent, as well you know," he joked, looking to Athena for her reaction.

She laughed quickly, staring at him. "You are not playing? He did such a thing? Poor dear, it obviously did not work in his favor!" Athena beamed, holding her hands to her face in mock-shock. "Oh! In addition, Romulus, we were planning to make an invasion on those very same Iberians in a month! Perhaps it is about time you have done something before me, yes?"

He found he had to make an effort to smile in reply, and decided to goad her on. "This old complaint," he chuckled, looking from her to a particularly Greek-looking building opposite their path. "What some would call imitation, my dear, others would call improvement..."

She turned to the building, listening to his words and blinking at what stood in front of her. Mild improvement, but nothing worth noting. She turned to him, raising her eyebrows. "I'd like to meet the fellows that say such things."

He grinned, walking forward again, noting the way she tried to hide her displeasure. She was never very good at pretending she was not angry. "What would you say?" He egged her on. "If one of those men were standing right beside you, for instance?"

"I would say to them that they should take a tour of Greece, and see if this mere building measures up to their standards of 'improvement'." She sniffed, walking on without him. "What would you say to Antonius if he so happened to be offered a chance to stay with me, and see if life is more comfortable that way, hmm, Romulus?"

"If I were the type of man to bet I would bet he would take you up on your offer," he shrugged, taking long strides to catch up to her, which he managed quite easily. She was tall, for a woman, but he was taller. "However, I do not think it is your architecture that would convince him..."

"You are right; it would possibly be the fact that I would not kick him so mercilessly under the table." She muttered, completely aware that the boy was a tiny bit smitten for her, but then again, who wasn't in some way? She rounded the corner where they would return back to his estate, easily ignoring an impressive fountain she had not made herself at some point.

"Athena," he chided, when she walked forward quickly again, making absolutely no effort to hide the fact she saw and judged his every move. She had never pretended otherwise. "With such distinguished company, it is inappropriate to let him say whatever he pleases. You know how it is; you have your son..." He closed his mouth quickly and laughed nervously. "I am sure Herakles is much better behaved, of course, his upbringing is probably far better."

Athena sighed at him, gathering up her robes when they had to trek up some stairs. Flattered she was, honored, not quite. "The boy has a mouth, and you must teach him to control it, without having him insist his legs are covered in suspiciously red dirt." She told him, turning towards him and curling her nose up at him when she met his eye. "Furthermore, since he is coming to the dinner tonight with the diplomats and the representatives, you must teach him proper speech and have him be aware of such manners." Athena said, patting his shoulder. "His Latin sounds like a pig's."

"You are right," agreed Romulus readily, already trying to think of the best way to go about coaching Antonius into proper behavior in a few hours. He would probably start by telling him that Athena had found his behavior absolutely deplorable. That always worked when he had to convince himself to behave. "Athena," he called her attention, taking her wrist when she turned to walk away from him again, but letting go immediately, even if they still stood close. "Why is it that you are here so early in the day? Without your representatives?" He smiled knowingly. "It is difficult to find a moment to talk with them around, isn't it?"

She sighed, turning back towards him. "Yes, and while I can control them just as well as you can control Antonius, I loathe their presence." Athena announced, as if it were something to be proud about. "They hardly let me get a word in! It is as if they are Roman, and think of me as something lesser. Well, I assure you, if I could fight you tonight in the lawn in front of them I would bet you my blueprints that will change."

"You should not tar us all with the same brush," he muttered, purposefully ignoring her suggestion. If he took her up on the offer and let her win, he would be humiliated. If she lost, she would despise him for setting her up for a fall. "There are plenty of Roman men who respect a woman's mind."

There were some decent Romans, she would agree, but a good lot of them were cut from the same cloth, she could tell. "They were tired and wanted to rest in a small town, but I kept moving ahead of them. With their luck, they should be in Rome by early afternoon." She told him. "I assume even on a short trip to Hispania your men did not falter."

"No, no, it didn't take very long. We were only visiting, as luck would have it we came across Antonius," he told her quickly, as if it was entirely irrelevant, curious to return to another topic of conversation. "You were so eager to get here?"

"I did not wish to rest in an inn with seven other men." She said, as if it were obvious. "While they are respectable Greek men, I cannot easily trust them. Being away from their wives..." She grimaced, rolling her eyes. "Luckily, it has not happened yet, but I did not wish to play with the Gods."

"You are safer in the company of one Roman than seven Greeks!" he laughed, putting his hand to her back and gesturing to her so that she would walk forward again. "I should commend you on your forward-thinking, my dear; I shudder to think of what you would do to men who forget their loyalties...

Athena shook her head, entering the walkway to his manor. "I think not, Romulus. I have yet to spend a night with just one Roman who did not try stealing my bed warmth," she mumbled, straightening her robes and having him walk ahead of her to lead the way.

"Rest assured, you will not be disturbed tonight by anyone... Roman or Greek," he told her, walking slowly to draw back beside her and speak with sincerity. "I will make sure of it."

His sincerity made her feel physically ill, and she tried to make that obvious through her smile she presented him. "I hope you are true to your word." She told him, and walked through the large arched door to find the tutor just leaving, looking emotionally drained. She knew the feeling quite well. Speaking to Romulus could do that to a person.

Romulus sighed quietly when her back was turned, following her a few steps after to find his boys setting up to rush around and do as they pleased (which usually meant running indoors and climbing on things they were not normally supposed to) with the dogs yapping at their feet. They turned at the sound of footsteps and looked perfectly disappointed that he was home. "Show Athena what you have learned today, I will arrive back shortly," he told them, smiling and giving Athena a look, half-apologetic and half-expectant, and she nodded. She was good with children. He left them to show off, as children so often did, and went to find Antonius, eager to strike up a new agreement and get his training underway.


End file.
